Dialogues of the Dead

Dee sat on the floor, Hat perched on a three-legged stool, while Rye sat in the only chair. This was a lovely thing, carved out of oak, with lion-head armrests and claw feet, all possessing that deep patina which only age and the polish of use can give.

“Found it in the barn,” explained Dee. “One of the arms was broken and someone at some time had thought a coat of whitewash would improve it. So I neglected my painting for a while on the grounds that putting this back to what it was made a greater contribution to art and beauty than anything I could do.”

“It’s lovely, Dick,” said Rye.

“Yes, isn’t it. And at last there is someone here worthy to sit in it. No doubt about it, eh, Hat? Rye must be our chairman. ‘Queen and huntress chaste and fair …’”

As he spoke he took her hand and urged her to take her seat.

Hat, resenting the contact and thinking to earn some Brownie points by a quick flash of linguistic correctness, said, “Chairwoman, I think you mean. Or at least Chairperson.”

“That’s what you think I mean, is it?” said Dee pleasantly. “Yet man in its origins was never gender specific. There are those who derive it from the same Indogermanic source posited for mind

, that is men or mon, to think or remember, thus referring to that power of rational thought which differentiates us from the beasts. Whatever the truth of this, it’s certain that its reference to the male of the species is a much later development, and therefore to say that those instances where it still retains its original sense of human being, such as mankind

, demonstrate masculine arrogance and exclusivity is as absurd as saying that the internal combustion engine was invented because Henry Ford started making motor cars. However, I acknowledge that among ignorant people I cannot forever be giving my little lecture, so yes, back there in the land of hoi polloi, I usually observe the conventions of the new ignorance. But here, among friends, no need to hide our lights under bushels! Rye, you shall be our chairman, Hat, you shall be our stoolie, and I as usual shall take the floor.”

Hat felt he ought to feel patronized but found it hard not to feel flattered instead. It was a rare art, he reluctantly admitted, to be able to rattle on like Dee without getting right up your nose. Remove the element of sexual jealousy, and he guessed he’d be really impressed by the guy, who gave the impression of being not unimpressed by Hat. At every opportunity he went out of his way to offer cues for him to display his ornithological expertise, showing what seemed a genuine rather than just a polite interest, and being modestly self-deprecating when Rye drew attention to several of his paintings which included birdlife.

There was no doubt about it, he might not be a bird painter in the Aubusson or even the Hon. Geoffrey style, but his touch when it came to painting the feel of a bird in flight was indisputable, and Hat was able to join his praise to Rye’s with, he hoped, no discernible element of grudgingness.

It was some comfort to see that this apparent closeness between the two librarians didn’t extend to details of Dee’s private life. Rye was clearly as surprised as he was to find her colleague in residence. Not that residence seemed the right word. The cottage was primitive in the extreme with no modern utilities.

“I used to come up to the tarn to paint,” explained Dick, “and I took shelter in here one day when it started raining, I mean really raining, not this soft breath of god stuff. And it occurred to me that I would find it really useful to have a place like this where I could store some gear and work inside when the weather was inclement. So I made enquiries, discovered that it all belonged to the Stang estate, that’s the Pyke-Strengler family property, and I was able to use my slight acquaintance with the Hon. Geoffrey to persuade them to let me take out a lease on the place for a nominal rent. I take care of basic upkeep, it’s in my own interest of course, and everyone’s happy.”

“Do you actually stay here?” asked Rye.

“I occasionally camp out overnight,” he admitted. “I’ve got a sleeping bag and a camping stove and various bits and pieces. I’ve tried to avoid nest-building. I don’t want a rural retreat, just a workshop. But it’s amazing how the stuff builds up! And, as you can see, I am nesh enough to like a fire when things get a little too chilly or damp.”

“But a place like this on the open market would surely bring a good price,” said Hat.